The Fear
by walking primrose
Summary: Death was always a part of their life. Those who lay upon the metal table, cold and empty, had a story to tell. One that they were going to tell. Jackson/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Fear  
**Rating**: T (may change)  
**Summary:** Death was always a part of their life. Those who lay upon the metal table, cold and empty, had a story to tell. One that they were going to tell.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters of Ripper Street. All OC's are mine.

* * *

**Chapter One**

The moment Harriet Blackwell walked through the doors of Whitechapel H Division all eyes had turned towards her, the slivers of conversations all but disappeared. Officers dressed in smart black uniforms turned their attention towards the auburn haired woman, as well as those confined within the cells. The clamour in the station seemed to disappear into nothing as Harriet walked towards the desk, her shoes slapping loudly against the stone floor.

She reached the desk, placed her doctor bag upon the floor closely to her. A sweet smile etched across her lips as she acknowledged the ginger haired man. The man, noticing that his colleagues' attention wasn't upon their l work, clicked his fingers harshly and glanced around at the quietened room before his eyes landed on the youngish woman standing in front of him in fine clothing.

"Yes, ma'am?" He asked, confidently. It wasn't every day in which he was graced with the presence of a woman of high class, especially one who was dressed in such elegant attire.

"I have an appointment with Detective Inspector Reid," She said, her voice husky. "It's regarding a case I believe his team are working on."

"Can I take your name?"

She nodded. "It's Harriet Blackwell."

The man, also known to his colleagues as Sergeant Donald Artherton, looked through the large book of inventory and signatures. He scanned through the names before furrowing his eyebrow in confusion.

"I do apologise but your name is not on the list of visitors in which Detective Inspector Reid is expecting today," he said, quickly. "However, I can check with him personally. He's just in his office."

"That would be perfect," Harriet said. "Thank you."

Harriet watched him pull the hatch up and make his way in the direction of where Reid's office was situated. She picked up her doctor bag and held it closely to her, her eyes glancing at all the sights and sounds Whitechapel had to offer her. She had heard stories from her father about Whitechapel going under regarding the loss of control in which the Division was experiencing, and when she had told her father that she would be going to assist on a case at Whitechapel, the drop in his expression was one that she would never forget. She glanced towards the open corridor where the man had gone, and craned her neck to see if anyone was coming. Unfortunately, her patience was getting the better of her and she had to fight the urge to follow the man.

She could hear chatter coming from a room just off to the left of the corridor. A thick American accent filled her ears before four men, including the kind receptionist, exited the room and advanced towards her. She took note of the big burly man who took the lead: his hat in his hands, his suit a little uneven and his tired eyes masking the pain of something unknown. The second man: a dark auburn haired man with a goatee to match was walking just a little behind him, who, like the first man, seemed a little lost. The third man walked behind the two of them and Harriet could see that he liked colours due to his colourful attire: his hair was slicked back and hidden underneath a hat. Smoke was billowing from his mouth and he puffed on a cigarette. The men reached her, and she coughed a little as the smoke filled her senses.

"Hello, Doctor Blackwell," The first man spoke, his voice soft yet stern. "It is a pleasure to be in your company."

He offered his hand and she took it, shaking it gently. He motioned towards the two men. "This is Detective Sergeant Bennet Drake, and this is Captain Homer Jackson."

The two men took their hats off to her, though the latter placed his back onto his head as soon as the introductions were over. Harriet watched him for a moment, before turning her attention towards Reid.

"How was your journey? I do hope it was faultless."

"It was, sir." Harriet spoke.

Reid seemed to notice that the people standing within the main reception appeared to have had their attention captured by the young woman. He motioned for her to follow him, and she quickly slipped into the middle of the three men. Reid pushed open the door to his office and allowed her entry to his tomb, before following after her and walking towards his desk where he waited for her to sit. When she did, he sat.

Homer sat upon the bookshelf behind him as Bennet closed the door.

"I called for you to join us as we need your expertise with a case we are currently working on," Reid began. "It involves a young girl who looks as if she has been-"

"You do not have to continue," Harriet interrupted. "I understand."

Reid nodded swiftly, and glanced at his two male colleagues who shared a look. He ignored it, and pulled open his drawer where the pictures of the deceased woman were. He handed them to her and she scanned through them. The girl was young, probably between the ages of twenty and twenty three.

"I hope I don't come across as rude, but I do believe you employed me to look after the deceased and give you the information regarding their deaths," Homer Jackson piped up.

Reid nodded. "I do, Jackson. It is clear to me that Ms Blackwell has clear understanding with cases like this one. I do, however, appreciate your work."

Homer rolled his eyes at Reid's comment and continued puffing on his cigarette.

Harriet stood up from her chair, sat her doctor's bag upon the floor, and walked towards the pictures of the Ripper victims. She studied the photos intensely until her eyes became blurred. She had seen these photos every day since the last victim was named and buried, and every day the pictures haunted her. She had seen them enough to last her a lifetime and yet, every time she would look at them, she would find something new or something she hadn't noticed before, like a birth mark or the painful look on the victims faces.

"May I take a look at the victim?" She asked, her eyes darting between the men. Her eyes landed on Homer, who narrowed his eyes at her before he tipped his head in a curt nod and stood up.

"I hope you've got your sick bag, lady."

* * *

The victim was April Evans, aged twenty two who lived ten minutes away in what could only be described as a slum. Little was known about the victim other than her parents had died when she was young and she was left in charge of taking care of her younger siblings. Her body, despite the rigor mortis, gave Harriet many answers to her questions the minute she laid her eyes upon her corpse.

"Do you have a precise time of death?" Harriet asked, glancing at Homer who was located not that far away from the body.

"I would say, roughly, about thirteen hours ago."

Harriet looked at the body again, as if attempting to confirm the man's estimation. She bit her lip and walked around the table. She touched the woman's forehead and pressed. The scalp was soft, which indicated that the victim was killed just under the twenty four hour mark.

"Try twenty three hours," Harriet said. "Feel her scalp."

Homer stubbed out his cigarette just as it began to burn his fingers, and felt the scalp of the deceased woman. The scalp was soft to touch but had a slight crunch to it.

"Her skulls broken," he said, to which Harriet nodded.

"If we go into the skull, the brain will be in the process of turning into liquid. But it seems to me that your victim was hit across the head with a sharp object."

Homer furrowed his brow, and scratched his head. He glanced at Reid who was noting down everything that was happening and being said within the room.

"Was that how she died?" Reid asked.

Homer shrugged, unsure at this stage. "She has lacerations upon her stomach, thighs, breasts and genitals. She could've been tortured before succumbing to her injuries. If she was hit across the head and taken somewhere where she experienced this torture, then perhaps. These lacerations wouldn't have killed her."

Harriet shook her head. "The wounds are not as deep to kill her. They would cause a great deal of pain but it would not be enough to kill her. The only thing that seems to be different from the Ripper victims is the fact that this woman has not had her throat cut. There's a wound close to her throat but that is it."

"Have you seen this before?" Bennet asked Harriet. The woman glanced up at the man, glanced back down to the victim, before nodding.

"Yes, unfortunately."

"The same wounds?" Reid asked.

Harriet nodded, tears stinging her eyes. "Though the blow to the head is the only difference."

Harriet quickly regained her composure before the men could see her emotions and quickly glanced at the medical records in which Homer had conducted.

"Which means that there's a murderer on the loose?" Reid asked.

Harriet glanced up, and nodded. "I do believe so."

* * *

**Authors Note:** Hey guys. I've just finished watching the first series of Ripper Street and I am addicted. I had this mysterious character come into my mind when I was watching it and I just had to write everything about her down, which led to about five pages of ramblings and story ideas. This will be a Jackson/OC fiction. I am so excited to share this story with you!

Let me know what you think! Reviews are welcome and appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating**: T (may change) **Summary:** Death was always a part of their life. Those who lay upon the metal table, cold and empty, had a story to tell. One that they were going to tell. **Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters of Ripper Street. All OC's are mine.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Homer Jackson had never been so uninterested in anything in his entire life. Even Rose, the pretty girl he had been visiting ever since she had arrived at Long Susan's, couldn't stir him from his boredom. She tried her best: her kisses stretching over his bare chest would have usually made him take control but he just stared up at the ceiling as though she wasn't there. She tried harder, kissing his neck and along his jawline – his favourite – but again, it was as if she was invisible.

"You want me to carry on?" Rose asked. "You seem to be elsewhere, Mr Jackson."

Homer bit his lip, deep in thought. He rubbed his brow and flattened his messy hair, and looked at Rose. "Sorry.. Sorry, I'm… I'm just tired."

"Oh," Rose whispered, bundling up the sheet and wrapped it around her. She stood up from the bed and walked towards the chair in which all her clothes were draped across. The room was dark except for numerous candles aligning the chest of drawers and the window sill. Rose slowly got dressed, her eyes wandering over to Homer who was now sat up on the bed, a cushion covering his modesty.

"You don't have to cover up on my behalf, Mr Jackson. I've seen it many times before."

Homer looked at her then, and his eyes narrowed in her direction. He continued staring at her for a good few minutes as she continued dressing and fixing her hair, but he never ushered a word to her.

"What's the matter?" Rose said, frustrated now.

His answer was short and bittersweet. "He might be back."

This made the fear in Rose creep back into her soul. "The Ripper? How can you be sure?"

"Another victim. Similar markings as the Ripper. If it isn't him, it's someone who's pretending to be him."

Rose was speechless. It had been so long since she had heard anything about the murders and the Ripper. In the last few months, Whitechapel had become the way it used to be before the murders. It was calm and peaceful, with nothing but the occasional murder or fight. The murders had caused an onslaught of fear for everyone living in and around Whitechapel: the terror and panic of whether the people you'd see in the street could be able the killer.

"I need you to be safe, Rose. You and the other girls," Homer whispered, standing up and putting his clothes back on. "Tell the others to be safe. And to not go with men. Make sure they keep their business here, understood?"

Rose nodded, shocked. "Yes. Of course."

"I need to go. I need to sort some things out. I'll come back when I have a clear head," Homer said, as he put his attire back together. "Promise me."

"I promise." And with that, Homer placed a kiss upon Rose's forehead and left the room. Rose waited a few moments before straightening herself up, ready to tell the girls about the danger returning to the streets.

* * *

It was a short walk from the cathouse to The Ten Bells Pub but for Homer, it was the longest walk of his life. He needed to speak to her, to validate everything him and his colleagues had seen when the Ripper was at large. The look on her face when she told them that she had seen markings like this before on other women struck a chord with him. The fear in her eyes was evident and even if Reid and Drake hadn't seen it, he had. She covered it up well, he had to give her that, but it wasn't enough for him to just brush it under the carpet. Something had upset her that morning.

He felt bad for Rose. He shouldn't have gone round and paid her a visit when he had no interest in doing anything. Rose was special to him, but so was Susan. He knew he gave Susan a hard time, but she knew, deep down, that he still cared for her just like he had done the first time his eyes laid on her. He didn't have to show it for her to know that beneath his cockiness, he still loved her. That love had just been through too much and both of them were scarred from what happened.

The rooms above the pub were lightless and dark. He waited for a few seconds, as if preparing himself to enter. Pushing the door open, he was overwhelmed by the stench of the alcohol being consumed by the already drunk men. He ignored the shouts, whistles and curses from the drunkards and made his way to the door to the left of the bar, which led to the rooms upstairs. He had learned from Reid, though indirectly, that she was staying at the pub for the duration of her stay. He found this weird for a posh girl like her would stay in a slum and dump like this.

He had no idea which room she was in, so he began with the one closest to him. His knuckles grazed the dark wood gently as he knocked three times. There was the sound of shuffling in the room, and the sound of feet against the floor as they departed the bed.

"Who is it?" A female voice entered his ears.

"It's Homer Jackson."

There was hesitation on the other side, and he was about to give up as there was probably no way she was going to open the door to a man she barely knew, when the door opened revealing the woman he needed to talk to. She was dressed in a long white night gown, and her hair tied back although some strands had escaped and framed her face. She looked at him with a furrowed brow, before she stepped aside and opened the door with her, allowing him entry.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, tiredly and almost accusingly. He ignored it and stepped in.

"The victim," Homer began. "Where have you seen markings like those on the victim before?"

He seemed to have caught her off guard from the way her eyes flew open just a little, and she bit her lip. He noticed that she had to steady herself slightly on the door as she shut it, the cheers and cries from the drunks muffled. She placed the candle she was holding down upon the chest of drawers next to the door and sat down on the edge of the bed. Home took a seat on the chair near the window.

"Is that the reason you have visited me?" Harriet spoke.

"Yes."

"Could you not have proposed that question when we would see each other the next morning?"

Homer shook his head, adamantly. He took out a cigarette. "May I?"

Harriet nodded. "Of course."

He sparked up, and took a long drag of the cigarette. He blew the smoke out, slowly and watched as it rose to the ceiling. "Tell me."

Harriet watched him for a moment, and Homer could sense that her attention was on him, but he never gave any indication as he continued taking long drags of the cigarette and blowing the smoke out.

It wasn't long before her husky voice filled his ears, and his attention was on her. He tipped his head to the side, his eyes on her and the cigarette hanging from his mouth. He brought his hands up to the back of his head and he rested back on them, nonchalantly.

"There was a girl named…" Harriet took a deep breath. "Stella. She was young, in her early twenties. She enjoyed the little things in life and wanted to care for people."

"You knew her?" Homer asked, the cigarette still in his mouth.

"Yes. I knew her," Harriet whispered. "She went out one day to talk to a professor about studying medicine. It was in the afternoon, with many people around. And she never returned. No one saw her, no one had seen her."

Homer narrowed his eyes at Harriet, feeling as though she wasn't telling him everything.

Harriet continued. "There was a search party for her, but there was nothing to find. It was as if she had just disappeared into thin air. The police soon gave up on the search, despite her family telling them that she was out there. That nothing added up. The police assumed that she had gotten bored of her life, and had gone off with a man who could promise her everything. A week later, her body was found in an alleyway not that far from here. Thrown out like she was rubbish. She had wounds to her face, thighs, breasts and genitals. Her throat, however, wasn't cut. It just did not make sense."

"Who was she?"

"Pardon?" Harriet asked, as if she hadn't heard the question. Homer, however, knew she was trying to buy time.

"Who was she? You talk about her as if the both of you were close."

Harriet looked down at her hands that were tightly clasped together. Her breathing was shallow and erratic. She looked up at Homer, saw the concern in his eyes, and swallowed the lump in her throat.

She smiled softly. "Stella was my sister, Captain."

* * *

Two hours and twenty-seven minutes, Homer Jackson found himself still sat in the chair in Harriet Blackwell's room. He had smoked a total of sixteen cigarettes and only had one left to last time until morning. Harriet was still, just like he was, sat in the same place. The candle had melted down to barely anything, and the flickering light signified that there was a draught in the room. The noise beneath them had quietened and he realised that last orders had rang, and for some time now.

"I was not there. I was away in Oxford, giving my opinions on a case when my father contacted me. He told me that Stella was compromised. I had no idea what he was talking about and so I left and travelled back. It was not until I arrived back that I felt this emptiness within me. It was as if everything that I had grown up to know had meant nothing."

Homer nodded, fighting the urge to smoke his last cigarette. "What did you do?"

"I looked for her. And then the news that would change my life forever came, and I had lost my little sister. She grew up wanting to be like myself. She wanted to study medicine, and be respected in her chosen career. She understood it would be hard, but she knew that if I could do it then she could."

Harriet wiped the stray tear that had fallen onto her cheek. "We thought, as soon as her body was found, that it was the Ripper. But her throat had not been cut, and that gave me some relief. I did not want my sister to be a victim of the Ripper."

"How long ago was this?"

"Two months."

"There hasn't been another case like this up until April Evans. Which means that the Ripper is no more, or we have an imitator on our hands?"

"Yes. But, Captain, I know that with your help and the help of Sergeant Drake and Detective Inspector Reid that I am going to find who did this to my sister. And I'm going to take everything that they love from them just like what they did with my Stella."

Homer nodded. "And I don't underestimate your ability to do so."

* * *

**Authors Note:** Hey guys. Thank you so much to those who have reviewed so far. It really means a lot that you have taken the time out to review my ramblings. I do apologise to any offence that I caused to those who had seen the name of the victim before I changed it – I had just started to write away and didn't realise.

Any who, I'm definitely going to miss the show but I am so excited for when it comes back on. We only have to wait until 2014 for it to be back on our screens… that's a long wait!

Let me know what you think! Reviews are welcome and appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating: **T (may change)**  
Summary: **Death was always a part of their life. Those who lay upon the metal table, cold and empty, had a story to tell. One that they were going to tell.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any characters of Ripper Street. All OC's are mine.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

It had been a few days since the arrival of Harriet Blackwell and so far the three men were still getting used to having her around. It had been arranged that Harriet would assist Homer with his duty as they both shared a passion for pathology; the former being educated at one of the prestigious medical schools around, whereas the latter had been taught his ways through a well known butcher. It amazed Detective Inspector Reid and Detective Sergeant Drake that despite both being good at what they did, both had been trained differently.

It was a Thursday morning when Reid arrived at the police station to find Harriet sitting in his office. Her normal attire had changed to a simple yet elegant black dress. It was what she deemed as being her, 'more comfortable and less restricting piece of clothing'.

"And what can I do for you today, Miss Blackwell?"

Harriet watched as he took off his hat and jacket and applied them to his coat stand. She wasn't sure whether she should tell him or not, and after spending most of the night tossing and turning at the whole idea of opening up about a situation that she had tried not to think about was frightening. She had explained everything, addressed everything, to Homer and he had listened - which was surprising for her. She assumed he would laugh in her face and declare coming after her a mistake. But he had sat there, puffed on his cigarettes and listened to her as she told him everything about Stella.

Stella had been younger than her but just as mature as Harriet. They had been close despite the age difference, and the both of them enjoyed the same things. All of which made it harder for Harriet to comprehend the horrific nature of the situation.

"I wish to speak to you," Harriet began, her voice trembling just a little. She eyed Reid as he took a seat at his desk and breathed a sigh of relief when he hadn't seemed to pick up the quiver in her voice.

Reid nodded. "Go on."

Harriet took a deep breath and suddenly felt nauseas. It was nerves, she knew that, but they were becoming a barrier. She closed her eyes and wringed her hands together.

"There was a case… regarding a young girl named Stella. She had been kidnapped and murdered and was found a week later. The police believed she had been murdered by the Ripper himself but they were mistaken. The marks on her body bared some resemblance to the markings of the Ripper but her throat hadn't been cut. The police just deemed her as another victim of Jack the Ripper but I know that she is not."

Reid was resting his head on his hand, his eyes boring into her very own. His intense stare unsettled Harriet but she gave him no indication that it did. He had heard about the case, had the file sent to him but the detectives working on the case had assumed that Jack the Ripper had taken her life. It had caused a lot of questions to enter his mind but the men had been adamant and so he hadn't voice his worries.

"How?" Reid asked. "How do you know that she's not a victim of the Ripper?"

"Her throat wasn't cut," Harriet answered. "Which is one of his traits."

Reid nodded. "I'll look into it, dig through some files, ask around. I'll let you know when I find some information."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

Reid nodded and pulled open his drawer. Harriet got up to leave when Reid called her back.

"I need some fresh eyes on this file. I was hoping that you'd be able to help me."

Harriet stared at the file, and the way his hand shook as he handed it to her. She nodded and exited the room. As she made her way back towards the lab, she glanced down at the file.

In simple black writing was the name _Emily Reid_.

* * *

Harriet Blackwell had been born into a upper class family. Her father had been a lawyer and her mother had been born into a rich family. She was their first born and the apple of their eye, then Stella came along and everything had fallen into place. Stella was seven years younger than what she was but had always insisted on doing the things Harriet had done. As soon as Harriet had left the family home to study medicine, Stella had been lost without her. The safety of having her older sister around her had been taken away and Stella felt at a loss. She adored Harriet and had to learn to live as if she was an only child.

The times when Harriet would come back from her studies had been a joyous moment for not only her parents but for Stella. It felt wonderful having her older sister back home with her. She would listen to stories of Harriet's life and be envious about what Harriet was able to see, to do, and to feel. And so the passion Harriet had about medicine had rubbed off on Stella.

They had been the apples of each others eye, and so Harriet felt that it was her duty to set Stella's soul free. And she was going to do everything in her power to do it.

* * *

Homer Jackson had a hangover. The whiskeys he had consumed the night before were kicking his ass. He was slumped in the corner of his lab, elbow resting on his knee with his face hidden in his hand when Harriet had entered the room. It even pained him to open an eye let alone two and so kept his eyes closed.

He could hear her moving around the lab, as she softly hummed and the rustling of paper. The urge to just remain silent, to just die in the corner was at an all time high but it wouldn't be right. It was evident that she hadn't noticed him, and so he opened his eye so that her blurred figure came to him.

"What are you doing?"

A yelp and a scream escaped her mouth and the sound of papers crashing to the floor entered his ears. His eyes opened and stood up slowly.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

Harriet turned to him, her chest heaving as she tried to control her breathing. Her eyes were narrowed at him.

"Wh…Ho…"

Homer smirked. "Hangover. Dying. The usual."

Harriet nodded, as if she knew how it felt. Drinking had never been an interest of hers after seeing her father drinking for so many years.

"What's all this?" Homer asked, gesturing towards the paper that now covered the floor.

"I have no idea," Harriet answered. "Reid gave it to me and just said that he needed fresh eyes on it."

Homer burrowed his eyebrow to Harriet and she shrugged. They bent and picked up the paper. Homer retrieved the folder and flipped it over. His eyes went wide for a moment and he lifted it so Harriet could see.

"Emily Reid?" She asked.

"Emily Reid is Edmund's daughter."

* * *

"You do realise that they're goin' to find us and we're goin' to hang."

"How will they know it was us who did it?"

"I ain't sure. But we have to be careful from now on. We can't make the same mistakes as we have been doin'."

"What 'bout the girl?"

"I'll take care of her. We'll move her somewhere else, I'm surprised her cryin' and screamin' ain't ruffled the neighbours."

"What will you do with her?"

"Ain't decided yet. She'll shut up soon. Or else."

"What if she don't?"

"What's with all the questions? She'll end up like your pretty girl."

"But she's a child."

"But, but, but… she needs to be taught a lesson."

"Just don't do anything stupid."

"Stop worrying. I haven't been caught before, and I ain't goin' to start now."


	4. Chapter 4

**Rating: **T (may change)**  
Summary: **Death was always a part of their life. Those who lay upon the metal table, cold and empty, had a story to tell. One that they were going to tell.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own any characters of Ripper Street. All OC's are mine.  
**Thank you: **To everyone who is sticking with this, it really means a lot. I have a lot of free time at the moment which means that I will be able to update often. And I hope you enjoy the ride!

**Warning: This chapter contains strong and upsetting scenes.**

* * *

**Chapter Four  
**

_No one could hear her. She was screaming so loud that her throat felt as if were on fire. Tears were streaming down her cheeks yet she couldn't brush them away; each time she would forget and the chains around her wrists would tighten causing the open wounds to deepen. _

_Hours had passed, days even, and still, despite her attempts to be found, no one had come for her. Her mother and father would be looking for her - they had to be. _

_She just wanted to go home, to hear her mothers laugh and to feel her fathers strong arms embrace her in a hug. She wanted to go home. Each time she woke from a restless dream, she wished that she woke to find that the whole ordeal was just a nightmare…  
_

* * *

The victim, April Evans, had been brutally tortured a few days before her life ended. The extent of her injuries, Homer and Harriet had surmised whilst conducting their internal examination, had occurred at least four days before she died. The bruises that adorned her body had only been the making of the brutality she faced at the cruel hands of the perpetrator as the large gashes that were carved across her limbs had been the beginning of the torture she faced. She had lost a lot of blood, and the extent of her wounds, the depth and severity of the injuries would have been life threatening.

Drake and Reid were watching as Homer and Harriet continued their examination. They were silent as they worked, both of them working in sync with the other. They worked well together, and in the few days they had been working together, they had built a respectable rapport.

Harriet and Homer shared a quick glance before the latter stood back. Shaking his head almost in disbelief, Homer pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, lit it from the flame of the candle and inhaled deeply.

"What's wrong?" Reid asked. Homer didn't answer, just continued to puff on his cigarette. Harriet continued working for a few moments, almost as if she needed to reassure herself and Homer that it was just a trick of the eye. When it was confirmed to Harriet that what the two of them had seen was true, she took a step back with a deep breath. Her breath quivered as she looked over at Homer.

Reid, concerned at the behaviour of his two colleagues, asked his question again.

Harriet cleared her throat and averted her gaze from Homer towards Reid and Drake. The two men were watching her, waiting for her to answer.

"She was with child."

Drake closed his eyes, and tried to compose himself. He was angry, heartbroken even. "How far gone?"

Harriet looked at April's stomach, and saw the making and the demise of a life, and leant against the table in a bid to compose herself. "She had just entered the third trimester."

"Would she have known?" Drake asked.

Harriet spoke. "Her bump is small, unnoticeable even. We didn't realise she was with child until we were looking inside of her. She could have known, regarding symptoms, although many women do not realise until they give birth."

"Who could have done this? How could someone do this to such a young girl?"

From the other side of the room, Homer's American accent rang out. "Some sick person, that's who."

Harriet's brows burrowed at Homer's reaction. She had felt shocked when she had realised, but Homer, though it was understandable, had taken it hard. The death of a child was difficult, and the thought of being unable to protect that child from harm was upsetting.

"And we're going to find them," Homer said, his eyes meeting Harriet's for a moment. "We're going to find them and they're not getting away with it."

* * *

Rose had spent the afternoon entertaining a fairly rich gentleman, but her mind was elsewhere. As much as she enjoyed spending time with men of all ages and all wages, there was only man on her mind whenever she would be doing her duty. The man in question liked her for who she was, and seeing as he spent most of his free time around her, only gave her the impression that he felt the same thing as she did towards him. Homer was the only man she could truly be herself around, and the fact that she entertained other men didn't seem to bother him. As long as he spent time with her, then everything was fine.

She liked to think he was able to share things with her. They would have deep conversations sometimes with the other being able to find out more about each other. She enjoyed his company and he was such a vibrant character that often left her in awe. Homer was like a drug; he would captivate you, make you think of only him and as soon as he left, all you could think about was him.

She had met Homer when she first arrived at Long Susan's cathouse. He had been rude and obnoxious but there was something about him that kept her drawn to him. She enjoyed the way he spoke, the way he acted and more importantly, the way he looked at her. The intense stare he gave her would always send chills down her spine.

So it came as a surprise when Homer, in one swift movement, tore her away from her gentleman and took her into his room within the house. She could hear Susan's shouts of anger but the way his hand tightened around her arm spoke that he didn't care.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her voice croaky.

"I could ask you the same thing."

He was staring at her, his intense stare was narrowed.

The tightness of his hand around her arm was becoming painful. "Jackson, you're hurting me."

Despite her words, his hand remained on her. She moved, trying to escape his hold but he was strong, powerful.

"Jackson, please… you're hurting me!"

Homer let go, almost in shock, and went over to the window where he let out a shaky breath. He took his hat off, and ran a hand through his slicked back hair.

He heard, from behind him, the door open and close and he thought for a second whether Rose had left, scared of him. But when he heard Susan's voice, he knew he was in trouble. At that moment he didn't care.

"What do you think you are doing, Jackson?" Susan hissed. "You can't just come in here and drag Rose away when she's with a client."

"Not now, Susan."

"I think now is a good time. If you continue to behave like this, I will have no other choice but to ban you from here. I don't appreciate you coming in here like a hurricane and ruining my reputation."

"Susan!" Homer exploded. "I said, 'not now'."

He turned around, watched as Susan stepped back with a shocked expression etched across her face. In all the years he had known Susan, he had never shouted at her before. They had explosive fights but that was usually Susan spitting fire whilst he sat, head cocked in her direction with a smirk on his face, enjoying the show. The fact that he had bit back had surprised her, and as the tears sprung to her eyes, had upset her. She was a strong woman, that was why he admired her, but there were times when she would crack because of other people and he would pick up the pieces.

"I need to talk to Rose."

"If you need to talk to Rose, you can talk to her in front of me."

Homer smirked and shook his head. He looked towards Rose. "I'll talk you when it's quiet. Have a _nice_ night, girls."

He made to leave but Susan pulled him back. He looked at her, cocked his jaw and waited for her to speak. She took her time, as if preparing herself. Rose quickly left, but not without a questioning glance in Homer's direction. He could tell she knew something about what he had wanted to speak to her about by the way he reacted.

Susan released him. She wrapped her arms around her and said in a quiet voice, "You never fought for me the way you fight for Rose."

* * *

Evening soon became night and Harriet found herself staying in the confines of the police station. It hadn't occurred to her that she should get some rest when the body of a young girl was laid upon the table who had the answers for the questions she wanted to ask. She felt as thought it was her duty to solve the case, to ensure that April's story was told and that her young soul, despite the horror and torment she had endured, was at peace.

Harriet thought of her sister at that moment, laying on the table where April lay. Stella had been young, very close to April's age and at that moment she was able to see her in April's place. The detectives that had been in charge of Stella's case had not allowed Harriet access onto the case, believing if they did then she would make it personal and her emotions would get the better of her.

She knew she had to promise April that she would find her killer, to ensure that whoever it was who took her life would get what they deserved. She hadn't been there for Stella, and now she just hoped she was able to make up for it.

In the distance, the sound of shuffling and footsteps against the stone floor could be heard. Harriet felt her heart creep up into her chest, but she tried to regain control on her breathing. She wasn't used to this. She should've gone back to her room where she was familiar with everything. At the sound of the door handle twisting, Harriet quickly made a move and hid in Homer's personal space. She held in her breath as she heard the door close and footsteps get closer towards her.

"What are you doing?"

Homer's accent filled her ears and she was unsure as to whether he knew she was there. He knew she was hiding, anyone would know she was hiding. When she was about to answer, she heard him speak again.

"What are you doing, Homer?" His voice cracked. "Pull yourself together."

She heard him wince and furrowed her brow. She heard him curse.

She stepped out of her hiding place and walked towards him. He had his back to her, and despite the low candle light, she was able to see him hunched over the wooden table near the window. He was staring out of the window, and hadn't seemed to hear her.

"Is everything all right?" Harriet asked. "I stayed behind, I thought I could use my time studying the victim."

Homer tensed as soon as he heard her voice and slowly turned around. Harriet wasn't expecting it, and with a gasp that escaped her mouth, neither had Homer.

There, standing in front of her, was Homer, beaten and bloodied.


End file.
